


You, who came from the stars

by REINDOWN



Category: Gintama, 별에서 온 그대 | My Love From the Star
Genre: Comedy, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/REINDOWN/pseuds/REINDOWN
Summary: Hijikata only has three months left on earth before he can finally return home. He has spent four hundred years on this planet, experiencing pain, anguish, betrayal; each incident scars him, leaving behind a bitter and distrustful character who hides from the world as much as he is able. And these three months were meant to be the most peaceful - the last countdown before he could reunite with his people. But when his new fool of a neighbour moves in to the apartment next door, his peaceful world is flipped upside down, and his bitter character is forced to face the betrayal and anguish he had tried desperately to cut out from his life. [Gintama x My Love From The Stars] [Gintoki x Hijikata]
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. Open Up

Hijikata Toshiro closes his diary and returns it to the ornate wooden bookshelf – 270 years old and still as beautiful as the day he had seen it first carved – with a sigh of content. It was not often that he sighed. In his 400 years on Earth, he had always felt it self-absorbed and disrespectful to sigh. Such an obvious display of dissatisfaction made people appear shallow, self-centred, attention-seeking. However, he was not in public and this was not a sigh of upset, so he allowed himself the small pleasure. Today, he could not feel happier. He would be returning to his own planet in three months’ time. As he had just scribed in his diary, these were his final three months on Earth. He had waited for this moment for a long time. Though four hundred years did not mean as much to him as it would to a human, it still felt like several lifetimes. As much as he would miss the chaotic and baffling world he had been a part of for a large chunk of its recent history, his soul pined for his homeland. There was no one in particular there waiting for him; his people did not share the familial relationships of this planet. Despite that, he could feel his organs aching, his bones feeling weighed down and his sinuses, blocked. It was time to return.

Little did he know, his final three months on Earth would be the most tumultuous of all.

And it would all have to do with the recent entrant next door. He hadn’t met the man yet – not officially. Though his new neighbour had been living in the previously empty apartment for a week now, they had still not bothered to pay him a visit. It was common curtesy, but clearly this man had not an ounce of such an emotion. How did he know? Unfortunately, being from another planet, Hijikata had several advantages over the humans surrounding him. Now, it would spoil the story to discuss them all at once, but the primary one that should be known is his exceptional hearing. Which meant, unfortunately, he had been subjected to unnecessary pain for seven days now. He could hear anything above a whisper coming from next door. Usually, he could purposefully ignore them and just as one could pay the soft hum of a refrigerator no mind, he mostly could fade out background noise from next door. The problem was that the man next door had no concept of ‘reasonable noise level’. Yes, the apartments were meant to be soundproof. However, he should have considered that there might in fact be an alien living in the apartment next door with the ability to hear his obnoxiously loud karaoke signing at midnight. Or his disgruntled phone calls with his dad. And let’s not forget about his outrageous sobbing that sounded like a wolf howling its frustrations at the moon – except, the wolf was in fact a chihuahua and the moon was instead the television spinning out drama after drama to a man with the mental age of a child.

Every time Hijikata would settle down to sleep after a hard day avoiding humankind (except his good friend Kondo Isao) and getting frustrated by the unnecessary stupidity of this species, that _bastard_ next door would kick off his rendition of the Doraemon theme song which flowed into Hijikata’s ears as easily as honey from a spoon. Hijikata was more frustrated by the fact that he only had three months left, so moving now was hardly practical. Up until now, all Hijikata had done was bear with the pain and hope one day the guy would keel over and die. Today was not a day like the rest. Today was the day he would receive a knock at the door.

Hijikata squinted suspiciously at the screen on the back of his door which displayed only a head of silver hair sliding down the door, falling out of shot of the camera. He sighed – twice in one day! And this time it was certainly not contentment on his tongue. With a roll of his eyes, he opened his front door and was nearly knocked down by his neighbour, who literally fell into his room.

“Ahh~” the man chimed, brightly, pointing up at the ceiling. He reeked of alcohol. “One one one oneeee. I knew it.”

“What are you doing?” Hijikata did not spare him an ounce of pleasantries, hitting him straight with his most powerful glare, which would knock the majority of people off balance. “Get off my floor.”

The silver haired man looked up at him, a look of confusion slowly crumpling his brow. “What’re you …” He drawled, scrunching his nose as he tried to see past the swimming light display in his vision. “Why’re you in my apartment?” The sentence hadn’t come out quite so cleanly as it was typed, but the message roughly came across. Hijikata had half a mind to boot the guy from his apartment right now, but the drunken idiot was currently sprawled across his boots and damn, he was heavy. He was tall, probably slightly taller than Hijikata but not by much. When his eyes were open and focussed, they were a startling colour, like the reddish-brown swirl of a chestnut. From the man’s many phone conversations and equally loud visitors, he knew the male to be a film star. One look at his face and he could see why – his jawline could cut glass. He would have to be an actor to make up for his horrendous personality, though. None of this thinking was removing his current problem from where it was drooling on his boots.

“This isn’t your apartment. Get out.”

“Burglerrrr.” He drawled. “Gotta call my manager. Staaalker alert.” It was then that Hijikata made the mistake of stepping back to release his feet, which allowed the man to roll into the apartment fully, leaving the door to click shut behind them. The man on the floor hiccuped and stared at the door. “Safe.” He held a big thumbs up.

“Not ‘ _safe’_ , I want you out of my apartment!” Hijikata complained but only a second later, the somewhat unsteady and airheaded heap on the floor got up and sprinted for the sofa, diving at full speed onto the mass of cushions with a _womph_.

“Saaafe!” The man repeated. “Oh yeah, manager, manager.” He took out his phone and prodded at the screen with his index finger. He began posing with various expressions, attempting to unlock the device without realising that the camera was facing towards the ceiling. It just so happened that at the same time, he had a phone call come through and managed to clumsily answer the call. “Heeeeeeyyyyyy!” He sang into the phone. “Zenzooo.”

Hijikata saw an opportunity and snatched the phone from the man’s hands – he didn’t even notice the motion and so stared blankly at his empty palms for several second. “Hello?”

“Gintoki?” The caller replied.

“No, this is his neighbour. He has broken into my house, could you get him removed please before I call security?”

The caller paused for several seconds and then made a noise that sounded like a chuckle. “Sorry to hear that buddy, sounds like a you problem to me.” Hijikata spluttered into the phone in disbelief, nearly throwing the device out the window when it made a short trill to indicate he had been hung up on.

“Right,” Hijikata rounded on his neighbour, who was apparently known as Gintoki. “You’re leaving.” He ordered. His words fell on deaf ears though, because the man before him had passed out peacefully on his sofa. He resisted to urge to whack the perm-haired fool sharply across the ears. The man was sleeping so peacefully, as though he had been snoozing for hours and not seconds. No amount of disgruntled snorts from Hijikata could awaken him. In the end, Hijikata considered physically ejecting him from the apartment. There were two ways he could do that. First, he could levitate the man – the second alien skill to be revealed – but that risked being seen. And Hijikata had clearly not told anyone that he was in fact not human, except Kondo who had happened to discover that fact through extenuating circumstances. Secondly, he could haul him out. He looked _dense_ though. Plus, Hijikata would rather not touch him. He edged closer reluctantly, wrapping his arms around the man’s hips and preparing to throw him over one shoulder. Gintoki did not stir, but the stench of alcohol was unreal. Hijikata committed and threw the limp body over one shoulder with ease, standing up straight so that he grasped both legs to his chest. _Please don’t throw up,_ he thought, as Gintoki hung upside down over his shoulder. There was a murmur and a groan, but nothing more. Hijikata made for the door. He got several steps towards the door when he realised he did not know the code of his neighbours door, and unless he was callous enough to dump him in the corridor, he had no where to put this hot-blooded corpse.

“Tee hee,” a giggle sounded from behind him and Hijikata was immediately tense. He stopped on his way to the door, the body flung over his shoulder vibrating as the man giggled to himself. All of a sudden, the body sprung into life and brought two flat palms down on Hijikata’s backside with a velocity that would have surprised a blue bottle. Hijikata immediately and unceremoniously dropped his neighbour onto the hard laminate flooring, trying to ignore the ominous _thunk_ the body made as it hit the ground.

Hijikata paced, doing his damnest to calm himself down because as much as he wanted to stamp on his neighbour’s head, being an alien didn’t exempt him from murder charges. He chewed his thumb and wondered if he should call security. Maybe they would be able to open Gintoki’s door. He could only teleport to somewhere he had previously been (the third alien skill on his repertoire) because otherwise that would be an easy solution. The drunk fool wouldn’t even remember it had happened. Speaking of drunk fools, the guy was now sobbing on his floor.

“My heeead~” he cried, and Hijikata couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as the man held his aching head in his hands. “Huuuurts.” He had, after all, dropped him onto a solid surface and the way his head had twanged off the floor didn’t look … safe. He would certainly feel bad if he left the man on the floor – cold, unconscious, possibly ready to throw up on his own vomit and oh, also, suffering from concussion. It pained him to think this way, but the guy would have to stay for the night, at least so he could keep an eye on him and ease his conscience a little. Hijikata sighed, the third time today, and knelt to bundle the man into his arms once more. Gintoki reached up like a baby and clung onto Hijikata’s shirt, groaning softly.

“You’re possibly the most insufferable human I have ever met.” Hijikata punctuated each step with a syllable, each dripping with venom. “The type of person I hate the most. No dignity, no manners, no self-respect.”

“Teee heee…” Gintoki seemed to reply, gleefully.

“And I hate that I can’t just dump you on the sofa tonight because unfortunately, you look like him.”

His neighbour did not reply to this, snoozing softly in Hijikata’s arms, allowing himself to be laid atop Hijikata’s bed as though it was his plan all along. Still feeling bitter, Hijikata found a blanket to drape over him and closed the door to the balcony which he usually left slightly ajar. He took one last look at the face of a man far too similar, yet far too distinct from _him_.

By ‘him’, Hijikata was referring to a man he had met hundreds of years ago – twenty years of age and yet so much more mature than this snivelling slob. He had to be, as back then there was a war tearing society apart. He still thought of that time with a twist of pain in his chest. He still dreamed of the nights he spent beside him, staring up at the stars, pointing out one of the twinkling dots in the sky. He remembered the look of astonishment returned to him, followed by a pair of bright red eyes staring avidly at the sea of stars above, the universe unfolding before them and reflecting in his eyes. There had never been anyone like him, and there never would be again.

Gintoki. What a stupid fucking name.

…

Gintoki awoke the next morning with a thunder behind his eyes that should have blinded him. An involuntary moan escaped his lips. He reached for his bedside table for an alarm clock that wasn’t there. Instead, he nearly knocked over a glass of water on a glass table that was distinctly different from the wooden stand he remembered. He wasn’t so organised as to prepare water for himself. In fact, even the fridge was usually neglected and he was the type of person to forget to wash the pots, to the point where he didn’t’ have a single clean item left in his cupboards. From time to time when he was really hungover, he’d drink water from cereal bowls. It was then that his mind caught up with his senses and he realised that he was fully clothed. Unusual. This was also certainly _not_ his bedding. Black, boring, and _not_ his. Ignoring his pounding head, he sat upright.

“Shiiit.” He groaned. This was not his apartment. It was very similar; the layout of the room was almost identical so he could forgive himself for the amount of time it took him to figure out the difference. It was the basic furniture and monochrome colour-scape that gave it away. Plus, the telescope that sat in the corner of the room, large enough to scare him as he noticed the large shadow.

He must have gone back with someone last night. The fact that he was still fully clothed was promising. Plus, the person had been thoughtful enough to leave him a glass of water. However, Gintoki was a world-famous film star. Waking up in a stranger’s apartment was _not_ good news. Photos of him could be in every major gossip magazine by the end of the day. He checked that he wasn’t handcuffed to the bed.

“Promising so far,” he muttered. “At least that’s an improvement on last time.” He didn’t talk about last time.

Gintoki also noticed his phone on the bedside table and quickly swiped it, before downing the water in one. He let out a gasp of satisfaction and tiptoed to the door. Opening it a crack, he peered out.

Wow, this looked exactly like his apartment.

“Now you’re up, you can leave.” A voice said from the other side of the apartment and Gintoki nearly jumped out of his skin.

“W-who are you?” Gintoki peered out, cautiously. A figure of black stepped out from the kitchen area, the mug of tea in his hands not detracting from his intimidating figure. The man had a glower plastered onto his face that could melt steel, bright blue eyes sat under dark brows with a head of thick black hair that dropped low over his forehead to darken his gaze further. He was dressed in simple but stylish monochromatic clothing – black jeans, a black shirt with the collar undone, black leather belt and black watch adorning his wrist.

“Hijikata Toshiro. You broke into my house last night, and now I want you to leave before I call the police.”

“Woah, woah,” Gintoki hopped out from the bedroom and waved his hands, wildly. “Let’s not get hasty. Why does this look so much like my apartment?”

“Because I live next door.”

A flash of a distant image came and went from Gintoki’s mind, but it was just enough to jog his memory a little and he remembered falling into his neighbour’s apartment.

“Ah.” Gintoki said. Then, “aah! Well, I bet you’re surprised to see that your new neighbour is the four-time MUA Award-winning actor and model, Sakata Gintoki.” He ran a hand through his hair and tried to appear modest. “Must have been a shock for you. Don’t worry, I’m really just a normal human being. I’m just the same as you, really! Even despite my ten million followers on-”

“Out.” Hijikata interrupted. He looked like he had only been awake a couple of hours and already his day was ruined. Gintoki stared at him, baffled, his mouth still open like his words had frozen in the air. Hijikata tapped his foot, impatiently. “O.U.T.” He mouthed, this time his expression merciless and Gintoki scrambled for the door so fast, his feet span like roadrunner on the laminate floor.

Once outside, Gintoki stuck his middle finger up at the closed door.

“Bastard.” He grunted. “Don’t think you can act like a prick just because you’re handsome!” And then he thought, _I wonder if he’s a model, too. If he has afforded an apartment in this building, he must be loaded. I certainly haven’t heard of him though._


	2. On Set

_400 Years Ago_

The white-haired child was only known as such and had been feared as an ominous omen since the day he had appeared in the village. The young boy, perhaps eight years old, perched on the edge of the village well, desperately reaching for the rope and bucket. The village priest had assisted him, tapping the rope towards the boy so that he could pull up the bucket of water and slurp hungrily. The priest watched on, thinking. Eventually, he decided to take the boy in. He had no name and was never given one. The priest took in the boy, partly as a gesture of goodwill to the poor orphan, and partly as a hope to appease the Gods, who had been particularly malicious recently. Maybe, if he sheltered this young demon and taught him morality, the village would be spared from famine and disease. The village, rural even by the standards of 400-years ago, had barely a hundred people living there so his existence had been gossiped about since the first day they had found him wandering the empty crop fields, digging with his fingernails for something to eat amongst the dirt. The villagers had stayed away, whispering from afar. The boy seemed equally suspicious of the villagers, but like a stray cat, he began to wander closer and closer to the town until the day the priest decided to help him.

For a while, the child was silent and almost personality-less. It was like he had never been taught to speak and indeed, the priest soon realised that he had actually not been taught anything at all. In fact, it was baffling to think how he had survived this long without any sort of basic knowledge of the world. For a year, he barely made sounds above a whisper, and those whispers were often just grumbles of warning to any strange hands that strayed too close. Just like the behaviour of a beaten animal.

What was further puzzling was that he did not act like he had been living in the wild. Though he did not speak, read, write or have any idea how to use chopsticks, it wasn’t as though he was urinating in the corridors or eating with his face. He was never that level of wild. This added to the dark rumours circling – he must be a demon, a ghost, something unearthly. How could anything be born of a human body with eyes so crimson and hair so white? The priest felt sure that this was a test of some kind – a test posed upon them by the Gods. Though wary of the child, he made sure to care for him and show him the same love he showed his own children. A year into this strange happenstance, the child had still not been named.

He was vocalising now, saying simple phrases like ‘yes’ and ‘no’, calling the older women he knew ‘lady’ and any men were ‘priest’. He’d hold out his empty hands to other children and demand ‘please’, then pout aggressively when whatever toy or treat was not handed over to him. The younger kids were intrigued by him and liked to play with him as even if they were younger, the white-haired child was always treated like the runt of the group, bullied so openly in the way that only children can. And the white-haired child would care not that he was being name-called or deliberately left out – it was the only communication he got with others. Older children, however, stayed at a distance. They shared the distrustful sneers of their parents, the look of fear as he walked by. They’d herd younger siblings away from him. No one ever took a hand to him. He was never touched.

Not until the day the rains came.

The rain began and did not stop for weeks on end. It seemed like the heavens did not even stop to take a breath, pouring from dawn until dusk, sometimes heavily, sometimes gently, but never stopping. The priest prayed more fervently than ever before and encouraged the villagers to do the same. Even so, the rains kept coming. The puddles turned to streams in the streets, the marketplace sodden. The crop fields, freshly sewn with seed for the new agricultural year, were washed away. Another week went by and the rains only gained in strength to storms, tearing down trees and washing away some of the houses near the riverbank. And one day, eyes turned on the white-haired child.

“He has caused this,” said one. “He was a bad omen and we housed and fed him. He will only continue to breed bad luck for so long as he is here.”

“My daughter fell sick after playing with him. How long are we going to turn a blind eye to this incarnation of evil?”

“Priest, what are you going to do about this? You have chosen to damn us all.”

The priest, though he had never really grown attached the child, remained human in his attitude towards him. He would always ensure the child was fed and would never punish him stricter than he would his own children. Although the boy was never given a room and had to sleep in a corner of the living area, he was provided with blankets to keep him warm. And the priest even took time to teach him some things, though mainly he felt his lessons were lost on a breeze. The child would be eager to sit beside the priest and diligently performed whatever simple task he was asked of, but it always seemed like the child was simply enjoying the company beside him, rather than taking any interest in what was being said. So, when the village turned on the child, the priest had a choice.

Protect it or risk the safety of his entire family. He knew the village well, and he was perceptive of their emotions and thoughts. He could see that the mistrust and hatred of the child was growing each day, unbeknownst to the subject of this wariness. Each day that it morphed and evolved, the mistrust was spreading to his own family. He knew that soon his household would be the cursed one – not just the child they were sheltering. Therefore, he began to think. He tried to surmise the best way forward. Could he convince the village that this child was not a threat? Could he appease the Gods somehow and avert this crisis? If not, what would be the most humane method of abandoning this boy?

He pondered long and hard – he had never been a courageous man, but he was humane and empathetic. He did not want to abandon the child to starve. On the day his eldest child fell seriously ill with some undiagnosable illness, he decided that he must kill the boy – it was the only kindness he could spare him. No one would take him in, and he would not survive on his own. He would live the rest of his life scorned by others and spreading plague and misery. It was the only way.

…

Gintoki smashed a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to block out the pain in his forehead, unravelling a black mask from his pocket to cover his face – such was the life of a film star. He could not be seen so hungover and ugly. His skin, usually pristine and glowing, was emitting an awful odour of the kebab he had devoured last night before hurling himself into the nearest taxi. Even the quick shower he had taken this morning had not scrubbed from his pores the stench of alcohol and fast food. His driver pulled over at the film site and his assistants, Shinpachi and Kagura, exited the vehicle to help him out. They ushered him (with several kicks up the backside due to the way Gintoki was ambling along lazily) over to the director to announce his arrival. The director looked less than pleased.

“Mr Sakata,” he feigned a smile, evident by the way the expression never reached his eyes. “Good to see you made it, even though you are … ill.”

Gintoki grunted something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘I heard those air quotes, bastard’, but with the mask muffling his already husky voice, no one could be sure.

“Yes, yes,” Kagura nodded, wearing a pair of sunglasses that matched Gintoki’s, “dreadfully ill. Gin-chan has decided to struggle on through his agony to assist you, Mr Director, in the key scenes to be filmed today. He powered on diligently, though blood flowed from his nose and his-,”

“We’ll make our way to the makeup department,” Shinpachi hastily cut in, “Thanks Mr Wakamoto.”

The director nodded, first at Shinpachi and then as a semi-greeting to Gintoki, who gurgled something back incoherently. The director barely concealed a sigh, before saying, “I hope your condition improves, Mr Sakata. Work on your health. This has been the fourth time this month. I hope there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Gintoki did reply, but no one really comprehended what he said except that _strawberry milk_ fitted somewhere into the sentence.

“We need to talk about your social media accounts, Gin-san,” Shinpachi hissed as he pulled Gintoki over to the makeup area. Gintoki gladly sank into the leather chair and couldn’t wait to nap for the fifteen minutes of grace he had before work truly began. Shinpachi noticed his posture and tapped his cheek firmly. “Listen.”

“Ergh.” Gintoki replied, allowing Kagura to pull off his mask and sunglasses but immediately squirming under the bright lights.

“You need to stop replying to comments.”

“People say stupid things, why shouldn’t I shut them up?” Gintoki groaned. He kicked off his shoes under the table and found purchase somewhere to rest his legs. “This world has lost all accountability with the anonymity of the online world,” he groaned. Shinpachi knew him well enough that he anticipated this profound statement to be followed up with something horrendously incompetent. “So if I want to tell Zura he’s a little bitch, I should put my name to the comment.”

“I’m not talking about the shit-posting you do on Katsura’s Instagram, though that’s one thing I need to talk to you about – you’re not a rapper, you shouldn’t be starting this drama with your co-stars. I’m talking about when you reply to the comments on your photos.” One of the makeup artists had made his way over to Gintoki and had begun smearing his face with creams so Gintoki’s reply was just a grunt for fear of swallowing whatever toxins were being rubbed across his lips. Shinpachi took this as a cue to continue. “Stop antagonising people or they’ll keep writing crap on your posts. That’s why you have so many trolls on your page. And while I’m at it, stop commenting on Ketsuno Ana’s photos. The Moon Magazine wrote a pretty convincing article about you the other day, basically calling you out for being a creep.”

“What, so everyone else can comment on _my_ photos like,” Gintoki switched into falsetto, “ _Gin-san, I want your babies!_ Or, _Gintoki, marry me!_ Or, _Gintoki, you make my ovaries explode!_ But if I tell Ketsuno Ana that she looks pretty, that’s bad?”

“Have some dignity, Gin-san. It’s never going to happen.” Shinpachi would have felt bad for that comment on an ordinary day, but this week had tested his patience from Day 1. “I didn’t think you swung that way, anyway?”

Gintoki shrugged, “Depends what day of the week it is.”

“Sunday.” Kagura responded without blinking.

Gintoki feigned thinking hard, making it difficult for the makeup artist who tried hurriedly to contour Gintoki’s constantly fluctuating expression. “Gay-day.”

This was another conversation Shinpachi wanted to have with Gintoki. The man had never given a damn about his sexuality and how it appeared to others, but Shinpachi knew the media well, and he knew that deep down, Gintoki was often affected by their negative reporting. Most articles were like water off a duck’s back to him. However, occasionally, one would hit home. He never liked to see Gintoki down, and Gintoki rarely showed it either. Shinpachi was worried about the keyboard warriors, too, who had already begun to speculate about Gintoki’s sexuality and were writing some spiteful comments on the internet. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation as he knew Gintoki would disagree with him. Shinpachi was all for Gintoki disappearing off the Internet, except for occasional posts run by his management to control his public image. Gintoki, however, did not give a damn about the longevity of his career. He lived in the moment. Which was perhaps what made him so charming.

One day, it would surely scar him.

The makeup artist was almost done. He had done a spectacular job, turning the hungover monster that had arrived on set into a handsome, glowing human being. His skin looked pristine, his jawline rugged and his eyes piercing (despite the fact he wore a constant expression of boredom). As Gintoki began to change his wardrobe, the final touch needed before he would stride in front of the camera as though he was perfectly on time and not an hour late, Shinpachi chewed his lip worriedly. Gintoki did not enter the van to change, instead opting to strip right there. The makeup artist flustered visibly; Gintoki caught his gaze and winked. Shinpachi’s concern only doubled.

“Gay-day.” Kagura nodded, wisely.

“Stop it,” Shinpachi moaned into his palms. Gintoki laughed, brightly, his face lighting up for the first time that day. He planted a hand on Shinpachi’s head and ruffled his hair, fondly. “Break a leg,” Shinpachi said, reluctantly. It was tradition by now.

“Thanks,” Gintoki said, awaiting Kagura’s customary addition-

“Break both!”

“I will!”

And he walked in front of the camera with a bounce in his stride, shining like a model with a beauty no one had ever quite matched in the entertainment industry. His looks were a constant topic of conversation – was his hair natural? Was he born with those eyes? Gintoki always swore that it was genetic, and his hardcore fans would often pull out the baby pictures as proof. But as always, there were many non-believers who thought that his face was full of plastic and his vampiric red eyes were just contact lenses. It was hard to believe any human could be born so different and yet be so stunningly attractive. In his early career, he was often pushed to be a model but Gintoki always made it clear that acting was what he wanted to do. And he excelled in it, so no-one really argued. Gintoki could turn on the tears in an instant, could make any scene relatable with his expressions that were always in tune with the audience’s emotions. He could pull faces that were at once disgruntled and confused, angry and panicked, happy and tearful. He could translate a poor script into a work of art in front of the camera, making it come alive. They could give him a blank sheet of paper and he’d adlib for hours without stuttering (which was useful because he was awful at remembering his lines).

It was the one thing Shinpachi did not worry about. He could trust Gintoki to perform, to act, it was just the other parts of fame that were not suited to such a steadfast yet goofy character. They had made it through every controversy so far, but Shinpachi always feared there to be another around the corner. One more viscous and devastating. One that would change Gintoki’s life forever.

**Author's Note:**

> You know exactly which planet Hijikata is from. owo
> 
> Also sorry for starting yet another fic whilst still having about a million ongoing ones. It's a bad habit; I'm trying to quit.


End file.
